


i wanna kiss you (every minute, every hour, every day)

by leifstroganoff



Category: Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gratuitous Karaoke, Hip Rolls On Hip Rolls On Hip Rolls, Leif Donnelly's Clown Hips, Making Out, i'll never get better at ao3's tagging system but, this is brough to you by mtg singing i believe in a thing called love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26485519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leifstroganoff/pseuds/leifstroganoff
Summary: A karaoke night. Not Zoey’s idea. And not an idea Zoey particularly liked either. But she’d made an effort to ask for suggestions of ways the team could bond and she couldn’t shut down the idea just because she didn’t like it and it had come from Glen. So, like most things, she thinks she can safely blame this on Glen.
Relationships: Zoey Clarke/Leif Donnelly
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	i wanna kiss you (every minute, every hour, every day)

**Author's Note:**

> this started as a three sentence drabble for a tumblr challenge that i continued because i am absolutely shameless
> 
> if you've not seen mtg sing i believe in a thing called love go look it up right now im not kidding theres like five versions of youtube the one in the white shirt is the best one

_A karaoke night._ Not Zoey’s idea. And not an idea Zoey particularly _liked_ either. But she’d made an effort to ask for suggestions of ways the team could bond and she couldn’t shut down the idea just because she didn’t like it and it had come from Glen. So, like most things, she thinks she can safely blame this on Glen.

She can also blame it on Tobin overhearing the suggestion and throwing in a very enthusiastic ‘aw, _hells yeah’_ followed by a quick finger gun towards Leif and a ‘y’all have _gotta_ hear my boy sing, he’s got pipes for days’. Zoey had tried not to roll her eyes (after all, she’s well aware of Leif’s _‘pipes’_ ) and only succeeded when she looked at Leif and saw the mixture of the blush on his cheeks and the panic in his eyes. Was he thinking about the only time she’d seen him sing karaoke, too? _Not exactly brag-worthy, Tobin._

So, here she is, tipsy and tired and watching her friends and coworkers and strangers sing a mix of good and bad songs. She’s very surprised to find herself sitting with Tobin and Leif for the majority of the night, making small talk until the emcee calls for Leif and she’s suddenly _nervous_ as her mind calls back to a very, very sad Leif and a very, very mad Max. 

Despite their changed relationship and Leif’s major development as a person and a friend (and definitely not more than that, she has _never_ found her stomach fluttering after his dumb smile is aimed at her and if you said that, she would call you a liar), Zoey really can’t stop the blush that comes to her cheeks when she sees him standing behind a microphone to adjust it for singing; the last time she’d seen him in that exact same position, he’d crooned out the worst rendition of an Air Supply song she’d ever heard (and that’s impressive, considering she’d only ever heard them in the M&M commercials) while her attention was split to her best friend singing out his frustrations. Still, when the heavy guitar kicks in from the shitty speakers of the karaoke machine and his voice starts with _“can’t explain all the feelings that you’re making me feel”_ a second later, she has to take a rather large sip of her drink to distract herself from the flutters in her stomach that definitely do _not_ mean anything. 

_My heart’s in overdrive and you’re behind the steering wheel_

His voice can only be described as sultry and _smooth_ and everything about his energy right now contradicts the sad, broken boy that she remembers donning the same stage as he runs a hand through his hair, breaking its impeccable style before slipping the suspenders he _was_ wearing off of his shoulders to let them hang by his sides. 

_Touching you, touching me, touching you, God, you’re touching me_

If her eyes are caught at his hips, it’s only because that’s where they were drawn when he had shed the suspenders and not at all because of the way his hips are moving. And the way his hips are moving should be illegal because _sir, that is just unfair._ Not even to mention the _notes_ he’s hitting seemingly effortlessly. She never stood a chance.

_I believe in a thing called love, just listen to the rhythm of my heart_

_There's a chance we could make it now, we'll be rocking 'til the sun goes down_

_I believe in a thing called love_

His eyes catch hers with a soft smile (and he has no right to look that soft while his hand runs across his chest the way it is) as the guitar break starts and he pulls the mic off the stand and _shit,_ maybe she’s gonna have to acknowledge those flutters after all because she _cannot_ solely attribute that to his hips or his chest or _Jesus Christ, Leif, stop running your hands through your hair, you can’t keep doing that._

_I wanna kiss you every minute, every hour, every day_

_You got me in a spin, but everything is a-okay_

Zoey feels her chest tighten as his hand goes from running through his hair, down the back of his neck and around to his chest again where it runs down his chest, ending in a fist in his shirt, which causes the sides to ride up, showing the slightest inch of skin which makes her bury her face in another sip of her drink to avoid acknowledging the heat that brings up to her face.

_Touching you, touching me_

_Touching you, God, you're touching me_

Zoey doesn’t actually process the rest of the words he sings and she swears to herself that it’s because of the large sips of alcohol and _not_ because of the things his body is doing while he’s singing them.

Here’s the thing, she’s been almost certain for a while now that Leif is flirting with her. They’ve always had tension and small smiles that last a little too long and biting remarks, but now the biting remarks hold so much less bite than they used to and all of that seems charged and like it means something, which is shocking to her because it definitely _should not_ mean something and she’s not even sure she _wants it_ to mean something, except when she’s doing something dumb like not taking her eyes off of his stupid freaking hips.

The only thing she processes is that his hips are still very frequently moving _like that_ and it is still very much causing her stomach to flutter and the next thing she knows he’s dropped to the floor during another guitar break, playing what appears to be a very bad air guitar _(and is he capable of singing karaoke and remaining standing?)_ and he has no right to be making her feel like this while looking like such an absolute dork as the song plays out. 

She only feels like her brain is back to a semi-normal place when he stumbles back to the table with a ridiculous smile plastered on and the first thing he does is take a large swig of the fruity cocktail he’d left on the table.

“Can I talk to you?” Her voice cracks on the last syllable, hidden by an obviously fake cough as she gestures towards the bar and he has the _audacity_ to look smug. She has a couple ideas about how she _could_ get that stupid look off of his face.

He only looks a little bit suspicious as he walks with her and she stutters out filler words, leading him past the bar and to a little hallway adjacent to the bathrooms, where she’s sure _much_ worse things have happened.

“What’s up?” He asks, an innocent glint in his eye directly contradicting the sly smirk that rests on his lips. She guesses that’s oddly fitting for him; if he’s anything, he is a contradiction in a stupidly tall, lithe frame.

Her response doesn’t come in words (as apparently the walk away from their coworkers hadn’t been nearly long enough for her to talk herself out of this), instead in pushing him up against the wall and swiftly connecting their lips in a kiss that lasts far too few seconds for either of their likings. 

Her hands rest against his chest as she pulls away, moving up to ghost over his shoulders and rub down his arms (and since when did this twig of a man have _biceps?_ ). 

When she looks up to make eye contact, everything about him hits her at once. The flush in his cheeks, the panic in his eyes, the small breaths catching in his throat and making his Adam’s apple bob, the way he won’t actually meet her eyes and is staring over her head, almost like he’s scared to look down. She’s having a very hard time judging if she had majorly misjudged the situation or if he’s into this, too. 

“I’m sorry,” The apology tumbles from her mouth, but she doesn’t back away and she can’t help but notice that he doesn’t push her away either. “For uh, for ambushing you. You just, uh,” Zoey thinks she would pay someone if she could stop saying _‘uh’_ right now, because the last thing she wants is for Leif to start judging her for not being _verbose_ alongside the judgement she’s sure is coming from her basically jumping the poor guy _._ “You did a lotta _stuff_ up on that stage. And it was, uh…” _Do not say ‘hot’, Zoey Clarke._ “Enticing.” 

And that manages to draw his eyes down to meet hers and she really should’ve expected the intensity they hold as he holds back a smirk. 

“ _Enticing?”_

“You…” _C’mon, Zoey, you can say one singular thing that doesn’t make you wanna cringe._ “Sure have hips.” _Or not._

The smirk he was holding back comes out now, though it’s accompanied with a laugh and she thinks it would be _adorable_ in literally any other situation. 

“I…” She still can’t read him and whether or not he’s gonna push her away at any moment (where’s an incredibly invasive heart song when you need one?). “Well, I guess you’re right.” His hands move from where they’ve been dangling uselessly and awkwardly by the aforementioned hips to rest on her own hips and _that’s a good sign._ “I do have hips.”

She wants to be mad that she’s trying to figure out if he’s okay with her absolutely jumping his bones because she can’t stop thinking about his _fucking hips_ and he’s _mocking her_ , but she can’t find it in herself when he straight up giggles and is smiling at her with the absolute dumbest smile she’s ever seen.

“Oh, _shut up._ ” 

The smile fades slowly as he swallows heavily and she almost needs to step back at the sudden change in intensity.

“Make me.” 

His eyes are focused, wavering only to glance at her lips, and _fuck it,_ that’s all the permission she needs to lunge forward again, bringing his head down with her hand so that she doesn’t have to stretch nearly as much to bring their lips together. 

She decides very quickly that the first short kiss was absolutely nothing to judge his ability on because the second that his tongue is in her mouth and his hands are using her hips to bring her as close to him as he physically can, she feels like every nerve in her body is short circuiting. In an effort to get some sort of control back, she moves her lips to fall next to his mouth and then a little further down and then she’s scraping her teeth across his Adam’s apple and the moan that that draws out is quite frankly sinful.

She pulls away from his neck and her eyes glance up, taking in where his lips are parted in shallow breaths and lower where his shirt is unbuttoned to three buttons down and _lower_ where his sleeves are shoved lazily up his arms and _lower_ where the suspenders he’d taken off while he was singing hang by his sides, drawing her eyes to where he is _definitely_ interested in continuing this. 

“You wanna get outta here?” The words leave his lips in almost one breath and she’s almost proud of how much it seems like he’s falling apart at her behest. 

“God, you have no clue how much I wanna get out of here.” 

The words are punctuated by another kiss to his neck and that is decidedly _not_ getting out of there, but he can’t really find it in him to complain too much about it when her tongue is doing _that._

**Author's Note:**

> c..... comments....... i love comments so much..........................


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